quirt: punishment

April 15, 2008 at 3:15 pm (D/s, implements, other pictures, personal play, pictures of me, real life punishment)

I had my first experience of a quirt a little while ago. A kinky friend of mine is a bit of an expert in making and using leather whips, and back when we were first getting to know each other he promised me my first taste of one of his toys. For various reasons we’ve never had quite as many chances to play as we’d both like, and by the time we finally made a date in February we had a whole bunch of desires and intentions to explore together.

Th evening didn’t start well. It was my fault, really. I’d been ill recently, had a long shoot that day, and was exhausted when I got home afterwards. I ended up running very late. We were trying out a new fetish night, and had originally planned to meet up first so we could get ready and travel to the club together. I was overwhelmed by stuff to do and kept postponing our meeting time, until eventually we agreed to just get ready separately and meet at the club. I said I’d text him as I was leaving the house so he could aim to arrive at the same time, but I forgot to send the text. I’d called and told him I was leaving in a few minutes, but I was meant to then text and confirm and I didn’t. He ended up waiting at home for twenty minutes before deciding to leave anyway, and I didn’t realise my mistake until I was on the tube and out of phone access. He got to the club considerably later than I did and he wasn’t impressed.

While I was waiting for him to arrive I felt really anxious. I knew I’d messed up and I didn’t know if he’d still be angry when he got there, and I didn’t know if he’d be the kind of angry that could be resolved in role or if our date was ruined before it started.

Eventually we found each other, and the look in his eye told me everything I needed to know. I was definitely in trouble. But it was the kind of trouble that meant I was going home with him at the end of the evening. I breathed a sigh of relief as I kissed his hand and said I was sorry. “Oh, you will be,” he said, and the threat held just enough of a spark of mischief that I could let go of my guilt. It would be dealt with later and I knew he’d be fair.

The fact that he was choosing to react in this way – that he wasn’t letting me get away with messing him around, but he was determined to not let it affect our time together – was deeply reassuring. I felt the letting go, the security I always feel when I’m faced with discipline I know I can rely on. It feels very safe to know that I won’t get away with something. Knowing I’d be punished later, that I’d atone in full, let me put the guilty feelings aside and start to enjoy my evening.

We had all sorts of adventures that night, both in the club and afterwards at his place, but those are another story. At one point in the evening he told me to stand with my hands resting on the wall while he used the quirt on me for the first time. I’ve wanted to taste this implement for years. He told me that this is what he’d be using for my punishment later. Twenty hard strokes, one for each minute he was kept waiting at home. I swallowed and looked down, knowing it was fair, frightened and excited but feeling that same security in his authority that was completely relaxing. He flicked the quirt against my shoulders, my back and buttocks, then started wrapping it, lashing my nipples and belly with the leather tips with perfect accuracy. The pain started to mount and each lash was beginning to really hurt. I was squirming in response to the quick, burning strokes and he had to tell me angrily to stay still.

Much later, when it was time for my punishment, I knew it was inevitable and I accepted it. He was gentle and firm and looked deeply into my eyes, checking in and connecting with me before telling me to resume my position against the wall. The whipping was hard and slow. I sobbed my count and my thanks after each stroke. I was quiet at first, concentrating on my breathing and on my count, emptying my mind and accepting the pain. By halfway through it was seriously hurting and I was struggling to stay still. By the end I was screaming before I found the breath to give my count, and afterwards I felt emptied, cleansed, resolved. It was closure, both emotionally and physically. Enough pain for me to really get a grip on, enough for me to feel pushed. I felt like I’d needed it, and in a strange way it was deeply satisfying.

Afterwards I knelt before him and thanked him for my punishment in a much more intimate way. I was very glad to be able to give him some closure in return. Tired and contented, we curled up in each other’s arms and talked quietly as we drifted off to sleep. The sun had come up some time ago.